


Back on Our Feet

by orphan_account



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Serenity, Mal and the operative meet again. Each is trying to put the 'verse back together in his own way. Mal by doing what he's always done, and the operative by becoming a Shepherd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back on Our Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by lvs2read.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, in retrospect, how closely lawlessness resembled tyranny.

Two years after Wash’s death, the hairline crack in the regime the Miranda scandal caused met up with a dozen other injustices too grievous to ignore. The increase in popular discontent gave renewed confidence to the insurgents, and rebellions sprang up faster than they could be put down. Before it was over, dozens of suns had set on the Alliance empire.

In some places the Alliance left behind, freedom and democracy flourished. In most, the vacuum was filled by a cavalcade of tin pot dictators, ruthless crime families, and blood-thirsty warlords that seemed to pop up like boils.

Although Mal had more than once risked his life because he so strongly believed otherwise, he now realized that most people would always think that, firstly: they could make people better, and, secondly: they could do so by robbing them of their freedom. The only thing liable to change was what particular freedoms they thought it was most useful to rob people of. What he didn’t realize was that this was the last vestige of his Catholicism, the residue that remained when the tears of the Virgin and blood of the Lamb evaporated in the heat of an Alliance POW camp.

The crew of the Serenity, though changed forever, was making its living much like it always had. Smuggling goods past the Alliance was remarkably similar to smuggling them through a gauntlet of arbitrary tariffs, protection rackets, and the crossfire of rival warlords. The lives of his crew still depended on his ability to spot a liar; grenades still came in handy as often as not.

Today had been another bad day, another day when things didn’t go smooth, but thankfully they’d been in the clear after they’d broken atmo. So here they were - unloading crates at the convent of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

The ‘verse has a way of evening itself out, because social upheaval tends to breed both orphans and nuns. The roughly three thousand children in the convent’s care had to be fed. Just another dusty town on a dusty moon where the sun seemed about three times too close. They were sweaty as hell by the time they finished.

“And so, Sister, you’ll see it’s all here.” Mal rested his hands on his gunbelt and tried to keep his voice sounding good-natured. The day’s excitement had made him a bit edgy. Jayne and Zoë stood on either side of him.

The Mother Superior nodded, motioning to a pretty young nun next to her, who in turn counted out some bills and handed them to the captain. Her eyes were downcast, but Mal caught them flicker briefly over his body and he smirked. He cocked his hips a bit, subtly but suggestively, hoping to give her a little something more to think about. After the day he’d had, he was feeling a little unkind.

“Zoë, makin’ you in charge o' that.” He handed her the envelope the sister had given him.

“You ain’t gonna - ?” Jayne started.

Mal’s glare cut him off. He knew good and well the merc was about to say ‘count it’.

“Also, the supplier wants your signature on those. Can keep the bottom copy.”

The Mother Superior studied the sheaf of papers. Mal kept his eyes trained on her companion. The girl, try as she might, couldn’t keep her eyes on the floor. She let them wander up again and Mal’s mischievous, suggestive gaze met hers. Her cheeks stained red instantly.

“Captain Reynolds, I’m sorry, I think the shepherd will have to sign these.” She nodded to the young nun next to her, who looked quite relieved to be excused as she hurried off, presumably to find him.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Mal sent Jayne and Zoë on their way. No reason he couldn’t wrap this up himself.

He and the Mother Superior stood silently, politely avoiding each other’s eyes.

Mal absent-mindedly studied the adobe walls, the arches, the simple wood floors - all awash in light from the low-silled windows. Outside there was a courtyard, empty for the moment, but presumably where the children played. The entrance to the main church was across it. The lintel was inscribed, large enough to see from where he was, “Hail Mary, Conceived without Sin.”

He was looking at the floor, at the great swaths of light from the wide windows, when a shadow stepped across them. The figure he saw in the door made him draw his gun instantly, cocking it. The figure in the door stopped.

The Mother Superior, predictably, began to scream. The shepherd’s dark eyes locked with Mal’s, not leaving them until he strode over to the panicked woman and tried to soothe her. Mal kept his gun where it was.

“Captain Reynolds,” he began, “Mal - I’m unarmed and you have nothing to fear. I must ask you to put that away, or at the very least, let the sister go.”

The woman was finally quiet, if not calm.

“You know your ‘shepherd’s an assassin, Sister? An Alliance operative?”

“She knows, Mal. They all know what I was.”

Mal’s eyes darted over to the sister. While she was eyeing his gun tensely, she didn’t look surprised by his revelation.

“They know that I was an operative of the Parliament, and that I committed grievous sins on its behalf. I’ve spoken of it many times in sermons, and when I teach the children catechism, I tell them about how -”

“You once was lost an’ all that?”

The nun seemed to be acting like he was telling the truth so Mal holstered his weapon, but he didn’t take his eyes off the shepherd. He looked different, somehow, than he remembered. And it wasn’t just the shepherd’s getup.

“Sister, would you be so kind as to give the captain and me some privacy?”

The words sent a ridiculous thought skittering across the captain’s mind. He tried to push it out, but it had latched on. _Gorramnit_, he thought, I_ need to get out more. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of everything that’s happened today. _

The sister gave Mal a disapproving look, thrust the papers at the shepherd, and left, her shoes clicking swiftly across the creaky floor.

Mal covered his discomfort the same way he usually did. “Huh. Just trade in one uniform in for another, is that it? Can ya get some kinda discount that way, or least a punch card or somethin’ so your third one’s free -”

“Malcolm.” The shepherd’s face was set, impassive. “When we parted ways, I assured you we would never see one another again. I certainly didn’t anticipate this. There’s no reason why we can’t simply finish this business and go our separate ways again.” He went to examining the papers and then his eyes crept up to examine Mal suspiciously. “This doesn’t seem like the total I was expecting.”

Mal stared at him, incredulous. “Why of all the -”

“Mal, just step into my office. This is our biggest expense of the year; I’m sure you understand our need to be . . . precise.”

Mal shook his head disbelievingly. “If you think you’re gonna get away with stiffin’ my crew just ‘cause y’all run around in a bunch robes, you gotta -”

“Captain,” the shepherd interrupted, “if you have nothing to hide, then you won’t object to me examining my records.”

“Y'know, the sister already gave me my money anyhow.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’m also aware that if I contact the supplier about a – _discrepancy_ – you’ll never work for him again. So. Please.” He motioned to the hallway.

Mal muttered under his breath but followed him. It made things all the more irritating that as they walked, Mal couldn’t help but notice the man’s body, that it was in as good a shape as ever. _Suoyou de dou shidang, what the hell is wrong with me?_ He already knew he was going to need to get some relief today, and since he wasn’t inclined to go to whores . . . the thought already depressed him.

They came to small study lined with books, and a single narrow window. Circular patterns in the thick glass obscured the view, but it still lit the room nicely. A painting of St. Jerome, draped over a rock in prayer and framed by dimly lit trees, hung on the wall opposite a cluttered desk.

“Please, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

The shepherd sat down at the desk. He looked Mal over, but the captain didn’t notice. He concentrated on taking in the room, his mind still sorting through the afternoon’s revelations, trying to avoid the desire he was feeling and the wave of disgust that accompanied it. How could he be attracted to a man who’d done the things this man had?

The shepherd rifled through some things on his desk. The invoice was, strictly speaking, incorrect. Mal, knowing what kind of work the convent did, had removed the substantial fuel surcharge.

“So,” said Mal, “power of life an’ death stop bein’ enough for ya? Needed the power o' grace an’ damnation too . . .”

“I don’t suspect you believe in damnation, Mal . . .”

“The hell I don’t! Ain’t seen nothin’ but since the start of the war . . .”

“Mal, truly, I have no idea what it is you want me to say to you. I left the service of the Parliament after we . . . parted ways. It’s true that I have regrets. Nightmares, even -”

Mal scoffed.

“I deeply regret the years of my life that I spent thinking phrases like ‘God and country’ made sense . . .”

“And what, you’re here t’save your guo cao de soul?”

“I know I can’t be saved after what I’ve done. I’m just -”

“You know, Alliance is nothin’ but a kicked puppy these days. Maybe you’re just the type needs t'play for a winnin’ team. S'that it? The Church is more powerful than ever these days. More people fear, more they suffer, more they’re willin’ t'listen t'some feihua fairy tale of a merry hereafter -”

The shepherd rose from his chair, heatedly. “I’m just trying – like you are – to get the ‘verse back on its feet . . .”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to me!” Mal's arms were long enough that fist could connect to jaw well enough, even across the desk. The shepherd’s body fell back against the books, jostling them. He steadied himself, touching his jaw, but not otherwise reacting.

Mal had already been a bit put out when they made landfall. Running into an old acquaintance, dressed as a shepherd no less, had pissed him off even more. Not to mention that the needs he usually kept in check, _had to keep in check_, were coiling up in his stomach something fierce. That the person in question was someone who filled him with revulsion made it all the more infuriating. Somehow, even that painting, with dust gathering in its thick ridges of paint, Jerome’s eyes, round and wet as a fish’s, rolled up toward the sky, made him angry.  
“I know why the total seemed wrong to me.” The Shepherd tossed the papers on the desk in front of Mal. “You’re the same as when I met you last. Still playing the brigand, but still -”

Mal was around the desk in an instant. The shepherd deftly evaded his next swing and then connected a pretty strong one with Mal’s stomach, making him nearly double over. He steadied himself on the desk, hand on his stomach.

“Now, Shepherd,” he said, wheezing, but not hiding his smirk, “that wasn’t very Christian of you.”

“Oh, and you expected me to turn the other cheek?”

Mal lunged at him again and they locked together, each trying to pull away enough to connect another punch. Mal got away first, pushing him into another shelf of books and hitting him in the eye. The shepherd had soon repaid him double. He was better trained but quite out of practice, so they were about evenly matched.

Both of them were bloodied and bruised when Mal found himself pinned on the floor behind the desk, trying to pull away, the shepherd on top of him, holding him down.

“Why are you fighting me, Mal? You had your chance to kill me before.”

Mal just muttered curses and struggled all the harder.

“Or is it something else?” The shepherd’s dark eyes looked into his.

“I am a trained assassin, you know,” he said, bringing his face closer to Mal’s. “Schooled in the art of reading body language, in hearing what goes unsaid, in knowing a man’s move before he makes it.”

Mal just smirked up at him. This irritated the shepherd enough to make him grip Mal harder and give his head a little knock against the floor.

“So even if I didn’t feel your erection against my leg right now, I would still know that you’ve wanted me since the second you saw me. Perhaps you’ve been trying to anger me, to pick a fight with me, because you hate me and so your attraction disgusts you. Is it that? I doubt it. More likely you’re the kind of person who likes a brawl almost as well as a thrust. And you feel so guilty about sex that you’d just as soon have it with a person who disgusts you, and keep the people you care about pristine in your mind?”

Mal said nothing.

“I think that’s what it is. Lucky for you,” said the shepherd, “I’m going to make this easy on you.”

He pressed his lips to Mal’s, _hard_, and Mal tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

The shepherd’s lips were firm but not insistent, as if they were already getting what they wanted and were thus not asking for anything more.

Mal stopped struggling, but his entire body was still rigid with tension. The shepherd kept him pinned. Mal thought at first that he’d kept his enjoyment of all of this – the soft lips, the smell of him, their bodies pressed together – secret, but when he let the shepherd’s tongue past his lips, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. He let the tongue run over his, warm and wet.

Gently, the shepherd pulled away a little and met Mal’s eyes.

Mal looked away, embarrassed, trying to recover himself, and summoned his most mocking tone. “Now, Shepherd, ain’t this a sin by Christian standards?”

“What is ‘this’, Mal? What is it that you’re hoping I’m going to do to you?”

_Well that did it._ Mal conjured every ounce of strength in his body to throw the other man off of him. But to no avail.

It was almost a relief when his muscles started to give out and he was gasping for breath, so when the shepherd bent to kiss him again, he returned the kiss, sliding his tongue between the shepherd’s lips, mapping the roof of his mouth, breathing in his scent.

The shepherd’s grip loosened, so Mal wrapped his arms around his back, running his hands over the muscles beneath the thin black fabric, finding his neck and trying to slide his hand beneath the clerical collar. When the shepherd broke the kiss and brought his lips to Mal’s neck, Mal’s hips seemed to push upward of their own accord.

They stayed like that awhile, the shepherd’s mouth teasing Mal’s neck, Mal’s arms wrapped around him, fingers gripping his head. The shepherd got up and pulled Mal to his feet by his wrists. When he was upright, and there wasn’t even a hint of force, Mal still seemed eager – desperate even – pushing their bodies together, searching for more contact. The shepherd opened Mal’s shirt, running his hands over the tanned, muscular chest. _I’m already going to be confessing this, I might as well go for broke._ When he went to unfasten his collar, Mal got such a look of – _regret _– that he left it, raising an eyebrow, but saying nothing.

“You’re gonna get what you want,” said Mal irritably, “what d'you care what I’m thinkin’ about while you’re doin’ it?”

So they left it at that. He finished undressing the captain and pushed him down over the desk, not too rough or too gentle. Mal felt the papers under his back and his head fell back onto the wood with a thump between a _Brown-Driver-Briggs, Unified Planets Edition_, and a _Lives of the Saints_. He watched, rapt, as the shepherd opened his clothes just enough to get the job done, pulling his gaze away long enough to reach for a glass bottle of oil at the end of the desk.

“No - not . . . that one,” the shepherd said, stopping him. “Here -”

He took a larger, plastic canister, out from under the desk. “Hasn’t been blessed yet.”

Mal snorted. “Well, it’s about to be,” he said, low enough that the shepherd could pretend he hadn’t heard. But later on the shepherd thought to himself that he couldn’t remember a time when he’d heard the name of God invoked with such naked sincerity.

* * * *

_The first thing I’m gonna do_, the captain vowed the next morning as he walked up the ramp into _Serenity_’s cargo hold, tentatively touching his face, _is get that jí băifēnzhīsān doctor to give me somethin’ for the black eye.  
_  
Of course he couldn’t get far without running into Zoë.

“Run into a little trouble, sir?” said his first mate, a bit concerned.

“Just a lil’ recreational trouble, Zo’. Nuthin’ t'worry over.”

“Didn’t see you at the bar. We were there most of the night,” she said quizzically.

“Zoë” he smiled, “Don’t y'know wherever I go, trouble finds me?”

She shook her head, smiling.

“It sure does, sir,” she said, hitting the door to the cargo hold. It hissed as it started to close. “It sure does.”


End file.
